


Our Hearts Are Dead (But We Are Not)

by Trashforstuckyandgot



Series: Their Songs of Fire And Blood [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Book: Fire and Blood, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Dragons, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, House Lannister, House Targaryen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Melancholy, Post-War, Sad and Happy, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Targaryen Babies, Targaryen Incest, The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen Era, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashforstuckyandgot/pseuds/Trashforstuckyandgot
Summary: “Dead men, dead women,” Alyn gazed into her eyes, feeling his heart clench, “We both have the look of them, yet we are still living.”
Relationships: Addam Velaryon & Alyn Velaryon, Aegon III Targaryen/Daenaera Velaryon, Baela Targaryen/Alyn Velaryon, Baela Targaryen/Jacaerys Velaryon, Daemon Targaryen & Alyn Velaryon
Series: Their Songs of Fire And Blood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1338598
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	Our Hearts Are Dead (But We Are Not)

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote quite a while ago. I revisited it, made some changes and decided to post it as a stand-alone. Hope you'll like it. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos if it was to your taste and comments are my only source of serotonin at this point so feel free to leave one :)
> 
> <3

There was a storm raging, howling and thundering when she arrived, in the cover of dark. Alyn who had been preparing to retire for the eve, was notified of the princess’s arrival by a servant, much to his shock. 

“Princess Baela?” he rubbed his temple with both hands, “What might she be doing here?” The servant could not say, the old woman only spoke of a  _ ‘wild beauty, Prince Daemon come again, demanding an audience with you, m’lord.’ _ He dressed quickly, in a blue tunic and white breeches, eager to see what awaited him and curious as to why she was there.  _ Something must have occurred... Yet her mother was a Velaryon. This is her home, just as much as mine. Perhaps willful Baela only wished for a sanctuary, away from the stink of King’s Landing.  _

She was damp with rain, silver-gold hair clung to her pale face, as hypnotizing as moonglow, courtesy of the dim lighting, as she examined one of the ornaments in the chambers. Rainspatter was heard, smacking against the windows ferociously. 

“Leave us,” he commanded the servants and guards, until there was only Alyn and his… cousin. 

“Cousin,” the woman smiled boisterously, all white teeth and calculating, purple eyes.  _ She is her father, where Rhaena is ever my… aunt.  _

“You must be cold and wet,” Alyn frowned, eyeing her red cotton dress that clung to her body in ways that poets would certainly write of and singers would sing of. The woman smirked, full lips tilting into an asymmetrical smile. 

“How touched I am by your concern, dear cousin,” she said but something dark flashed across her face, “But I have been colder.”  _ The dungeons of Dragonstone aren’t any kindnesses, not even to princesses of noble birth and royal blood. _ “And wetter,” she continued, a certain glint shining in her dark eyes. 

Alyn Velaryon ignored her ominous words and instead walked to the oaken chest, where he harbored some tunics that he’d outgrown since long.  _ She is a small thing, they will still look large on her, _ he thought with a certain amusement as he picked out one, indigo in color. 

“Here,” he told her with a kind smile, receiving another smirk in return.  _ Why must she put up this facade-- this pretense? _ Alyn wondered. _ She does not have to remain so fierce and strong, as if nothing could trouble her. _ Lord Velaryon knew that this young woman boasted a warrior’s spirit but had suffered more than most could even speak of. 

Baela took the articles of clothing in her pale hands and discarded them onto the floors. Confused, he moved to speak but could only gape as he saw her easily pull her arms out of the sleeves of her gown, pulling the bodice down, unveiling pale skin, but faint, white scars covered her side and some were even a screaming red. 

“Gods, Baela,” he reprimanded her, turning his back to the woman and sucking in a sharp breath. 

“What?” she asked as innocently as a newly flowered maiden. “We’re family.”  _ You are Targaryen, _ he wanted to scream-- _ It makes no difference to those who bear your surname. _ Alyn did not respond, but kept his back to her and muttered a silent prayer, for his tunic to hide his shame. 

“Such a bore,” she muttered, “I am done, you can turn around.” He obeyed and faced the princess, once again. 

_ She’s beautiful,  _ he caught himself thinking. _ Her hair has grown out and it clashes so beautifully with the indigo of her shirt.  _

“Sit,” he bade her, trying to ignore how the tunic barely reached below her thighs and that she left it unlaced. Then, he offered her mulled wine as they sat in front of the hearth, in armchairs. “What brings you here, princess?” he asked. That was all it took for her to leap into her animated tale. 

“They want to marry me off like a broodmare!” she confided, spitting the words out as if they were ash upon her tongue. “And had me confined to my chambers when I argued against it.” Alyn wanted to make a jape and ask in what manner she’d argued, but felt as if it was not the time. 

“They locked you up, as if some unruly prisoner?” he asked, wondering how the regents dared confine a dragon,  _ one of the blood. She would still be a dragonrider, had it not been for her fierce loyalty to her family. Would they be so quick to dismiss and silence her, were she to have had Moondancer in her tow still?  _

“It wouldn’t be the first time that someone did.” There it was, once again. That fleeting hint of darkness in her heart, of pain, almost.  _ It is as if they think that they can just lock her up, until one day; she makes no more sound.  _

“Who was it that they wished for you to wed? Surely he cannot have been that bad.” _ Right?  _ Baela laughed harshly, a dry sound full of contempt. 

“Lord Thaddeus Rowan,” she began and all Alyn could think was;  _ Oh. _ “A man forty years my senior, bald and fat with seven sons of his own.” 

“Did they not give you any choice in the matter of choosing your own suitor?” She laughed that laugh again, the kind that unsettled his soul. 

“No, my sweet, dense cousin. They think me too wild, wanton and willful to be a part of deciding such matters. I do recall Septon Eustace relying that if I were not to be wed soon, I would bring dishonor upon my brother and house Targaryen.” The princess pursed her lips before continuing. “Those old cunts brought dishonor upon my house, when they sided with the Hightower spawn instead of the rightful queen.” 

“But what did you do for them to confine you to your chambers?”  _ Is it not obvious? She’ll speak before making a proper thought.  _

“I may have spoken of how I’d bedded two of the fat lord’s sons,” she shrugged as if they were speaking of the weather. 

“Did you?” Alyn found himself asking, curiously, his Valyrian eyes unintentionally focusing on the scarlet scar that grazed her exposed shoulder. _ It does nothing to dull her beauty.  _

“Only the one,” she smiled slightly, “He was most disappointing, I must confess. He came in his breeches-- A fumbling mess, it was humorous how inept he was.-- Women are truly superior when it comes to certain matters.” The Velaryon lord simply stared at his cousin with equal parts confusion, awe and respect and incredulousness. 

“Why?” she asked when he made no reply, “Does it matter? It only seems to when it comes to women. You men can stick your cocks up  _ anything  _ that breathes and people will pat you on the back and congratulate you for it. Us; they call wanton and willful-- depraved women, sinful to the touch and venomous in taste.”

“No it does not matter, Baela,” Alyn exclaimed, “Have you forgotten that I was born a bastard? Why should I care whether you have your virtue or not? I am not the most traditional lord that rules, you must surely have noticed.” 

“You are an admirable man, cousin. Like grandfather. I always thought so and father did speak highly of you.”  _ Both are dead and gone and ashes and bones. Yet we remain. _ The compliment warmed him, and gave him a certain strength. A man of seven-and-ten, Alyn was full of doubts about whether he was suited to rule or not, but the burden fell upon him, all the same. 

“Would it have cost you anything to use honeyed words instead of venomous ones, when speaking to the regents of this delicate matter?” Darkness flashed like lightning across her eyes and the room felt colder when she spoke, words drowned in a putrid layer of decay. 

“It would have cost me my dignity,” she swallowed and her eyes seemed to be glistening, “Which is all I have left at this point.” And what could Alyn say to that? What would soothe such a pain? Naught could do justice to what that young woman had overcome, so he would not even attempt it. An overwhelming urge to embrace her and whisper soothingly in her ear that all would be well, took hold of him.  _ Though Baela would not like that, she is hard where Rhaena is soft-- And despises to show weakness.  _ Perhaps the princess sought to emulate her father in that sphere.  _ To make Prince Daemon proud of her, even after his death. To show that she stood by herself and would not mold to anyone’s expectations or demands.  _

“Have you laid your grievances before the king?” his pale eyes found her dark ones and he noticed how her bottom lip was only slightly plumper than the top. He liked that, _ an even distribution. _ Baela scoffed.

“Even if I did, Aegon could do naught. They are his regents and are always careful to remind him that even though he is king, dons the crown, sits the throne and is present for the council meetings-- That he is  _ not  _ a ruler. They will never give him that, not until he comes of age and  _ takes  _ it from their withered old hands. My sweet brother would only ache more if I told him and he has suffered so much already, I would not give him more. It hurts to be made small.”  _ This wretched war leaves incompetent men attempting to seal the weeping wounds, yet they only cut further, leaving it to bleed more. _ His heart ached for his cousin and her family.  _ There are barely any Targaryens left and all are torn and bleeding-- Ghosts of their former selves.  _

“What will they do, now that you are here?” He knew the answer to that already, she needn’t even have spoken the words. _ I need not even have posed the question.  _

“They will force me to wed and return. They will threaten you until you have no choice but to send me back to that sty.” She sounded so weary and tired but he knew that Baela Targaryen would not yield to her brother’s regents that easily. 

“I will not let them have you. I will return to the capital with you, myself.” 

“And do what? Pray tell. They will clap me in chains, if need be, and you as well. You are a strong man,Alyn, but no match for knights of the Kingsguard or ten goldcloaks.” The infinite possibilities were giving him a headache, and there was no solution in his mind.  _ What can I do for her? What does she expect me to do? No, there is something in her eyes. What does she  _ _ want _ _ me to do? _

“Then what are we to do, Baela?” he blurted out, running his hands through his hair, so like hers and leaned back into the armchair, groaning. 

“We wed.” The words were no more than a soft whisper, spoken from the lips of an enchantress. Alyn opened his eyes, straightened his back and looked at her incredulously. 

“I thought you were here to  _ escape  _ a marriage-- a husband.” Baela smiled and were he to have been a poet, his life’s work would have started right there. With that woman who was as infuriating as she was delightful. As fierce as she was beautiful.  _ But I am no poet, no more than she is an innocent, simpering maiden who’s known naught of any woes.  _

“A man forty years my senior, ugly, fat and balding with seven sons of his own. The regents want to  _ rule  _ me, to throw me at the one they think is most promising, most able to cow me. I will not let them, I am Baela Targaryen and damn them all if they think to subdue me!” Her face looked pleasantly flushed, from her anger or the wine, Alyn knew not. “I was never opposed to wedding, but I wanted a husband on my  _ own  _ terms. One whose cock I could stand being inside of me, one who is pleasing to look upon. One whose children I could  _ bear  _ to bear, one who is close to mine own age and would not hinder me or use me as a broodmare. You, cousin, uncle, whatever you are; fit all of those requirements.” Lord Alyn was at a loss for words.  _ Bastard. You are only an upstart who became a lord through war and blood and grief, and now you presume to wed a princess? _ Are not our inner thoughts the most potent venom? Our greatest foe. The ones that will never leave us be. 

She stood, placed her empty goblet on the wooden table next to her and moved to him, brushing a lock of pale silver with gold, behind her ear. With an easy grace, she moved to straddle him, both legs folded in the crook of each armrest. She smelled of rain and morning dew, faintly of wildflowers. He found that he was endeared to it. It was as if she could see the apprehension in his face, the doubt in his heart. 

“I am not worthy,” he told her, trying to gently scoot her away with his hands, but she remained firmly in his lap. 

“You are,” she breathed and smelled of the cinnamon that was in their wine. “It is a well-matched union. A Targaryen princess and the Lord of Driftmark. We would be  _ glorious _ .” 

“I am a bastard, with common blood in my veins,” he shook his head, looking down. The princess took hold of his chin firmly, forcing his eyes to meet hers. 

“You  _ were  _ and the blood of Valyria courses through your blood, same as mine.” Her lips were so close to touching his and his hands seemed to gain a will of their own, grasping her delicate waist and lower back fiercely. 

“Is this what you want, or am I simply a piece in your game?” Baela smiled dangerously and reminded him of Prince Daemon. 

“You are comelier than any of those pretty boys in King’s Landing, and you are strong and kind and gentle. But most of all; you are good and loyal. I’d rather wed you than any other stinking lord, no matter if his blood has been pure since the Age of Heroes.” 

“They would certainly relieve you of having to wed, if you already are,” he murmured and she smiled again but it was real and true. 

“Exactly!” 

“And fuck those old cunts,” Alyn whispered against the slightest brush of her lips. He was feeling the heat in his blood, the fire flowing through her veins and the buzzing in his mind from the wine. “They won’t get what they want,” he continued in a shallow breath, “Not this time.”  _ Maybe this is absurd and we are being foolish. Yet we are young, and what are the young, if not foolish? _

“You look like them,” the princess whispered and her eyes filled with the sorrow of her soul. “You have my mother’s smile, she died when I was so young but I will always remember that smile. It lit up every room she entered. I think father loved to see her smile, which is why he lavished so much attention upon her.” All Alyn could do was gaze upon the rouge prince’s daughter as she walked the cobblestones of the past. “And our dear Lord Corlys’s quiet strength-- his perseverance and my uncle’s sense of duty. Even though I never saw much of Laenor, he wed Rhaenyra out of the duty that commanded him to.” 

“Dead men, dead women,” Alyn gazed into her eyes, feeling his heart clench, “We both have the look of them, yet we are still living.” 

“Sometimes I think it would have been easier,” Baela shrugged, vulnerability lacing her words, “If I had perished alongside them. Don’t you feel it too? We were left with this mess and no clear instructions on how to clean it up. All who would’ve had the faintest inkling are ashes and bones.” He understood, he truly did.  _ Sometimes I wish that the Stranger would’ve claimed me when it claimed Addam. _ His brother had been loyal,  _ if only Rhaenyra would’ve been able to see. _ Her mind had been so so muddled by grief and anger and misery and pain by the end that Alyn almost could not find it in him to blame her.  _ And what good will it do to speak ill of the dead? _

“I’ve felt it, yes,” the Lord of Driftmark confessed, there was no point in lying and he had an inkling that Baela would’ve been able to tell, if he had. “But we did not and we cannot. There are people relying on us now, those who need us to be living and breathing, not sad corpses who will have tragic songs sung about them and their grief.” When Alyn finished, he noticed that her face was so close that their noses were almost touching and the melancholy of her brave heart was exposed. 

“I miss them,” a tear slid past her cheek.  _ Of course you do, _ his heart clenched,  _ You were so young to have lost almost the entirety of your family. It tears at oneself, no matter how much of a carefree, strong and brave pretense you put up. _ “Jace would have been eight-and-ten now, a man grown-- older than the both of us.”  _ She was to have wed him before, but he bade her to wait until after the war was done and overwith. There was no after for Jacaerys.  _

“You loved him,” Alyn acknowledged and a sob erupted from the depths of her soul. It was a harrowing sound and pained him greatly to hear. Gently, he soothed and embraced the small woman.

“I did,” she wept against his shoulder, “I loved them  _ all  _ but they are gone. Viserys would have been ten, Luke would’ve been your age and Joff, five-and-ten. They were so good and kind, honorable and dutiful. How is it fair that we are still here but they are gone?” 

“It isn’t,” he spoke against her hair, voice cracking at the ends as he thought of all those who deserved to live, but were doomed to die, “It isn’t.” Then, all remained silent for so long that he wondered if she’d fallen asleep from the exhaustion of weeping. 

When he gently moved to rise, holding her firmly against him, a weak noise was heard.

“No,” she murmured, “Everyone leaves, don’t leave. Stay.” 

“You are tired, Baela and need to sleep. You are not alone any longer,” Alyn kissed the side of her head and urged her to stand. 

“I am always tired. Weary to the bones,” she muttered, finally standing. Tenderly, the Lord of Driftmark moved to lace the tunic that had all but fallen off her shoulder. 

The silence and melancholy mood seemed to have gotten to the princess however, so she decided to speak, wry words filling the chambers. “You know, my septa Amarys used to say that my virtue belonged not to me, but to my husband.” 

“And? Did you agree?” he murmured absentmindedly as he took his time lacing, the corners of his lips tilted upward. _ She most like spit in the poor woman’s face. Baela was never one to be reigned.  _

“I laughed in her face and asked if my husband would save his for me.” 

“What did she say to that?” Alyn asked curiously, staring at her lips. 

“She said that it is the woman’s duty to be pure for her husband, in order for the Gods to bless their union and make it fruitful. A spoiled woman is a cursed woman, dear Amarys shared.” 

“I am sure you had a few things to say about that,” Lord Velaryon sucked in a sharp breath, chewing on the bottom of his lip, eyeing his cousin… or niece intensely. Baela Targaryen looked positively dangerous, even for such a small woman and she had that glint in her eyes-- one he’d only ever seen in Prince Daemon’s. 

“I asked if she would still say that, were she to have been fucked by a handsome lordling who knew how to put his cock to good use and then had to settle for a fat one, thrice her age that stinks of wine and grunts like a pig on top of her.” Alyn snorted but did not find himself to be averse to her words.  _ I fought for a queen, not a king. What is the difference, in truth? The bits between their legs? How vain and arrogant can us men truly be? How does a cock determine the worth of a man? It is their mind and heart that does, not what they use to indulge themselves. _

“You make fair points,” he indulged, moving his fingers to gently brush over the screaming, scarlet scar that adorned the parts of her exposed shoulder. If the gesture did anything to impact the princess, she did not let him know. 

“She tattled on me to Ser Tyland,” Baela pouted, “She always knew how to ruin my fun.” 

“If our grandsire had lived, you would not have been in this position,” Alyn sighed, “Nor would I.” He was a born bastard and many still did not view him as the legitimate heir to Driftmark. The Gods never meant much to him, nor did their fires and heavens. Alyn said the prayers and words when it was required of him, but he’d never  _ truly  _ felt them inside of him.  _ Gods are not kind to bastards, poor and impure things. _ He had learned that early on. 

“If my foolish uncle had wed my mother instead of a conniving bitch of an upstart, the war would not have been upon us. If they had given my stepmother her birthright, instead of conspiring amongst themselves, we would have known naught of this bloodshed,” Baela began darkly, then she mellowed. “However; If we keep singing of our past, there is no room for the future, Alyn. We know that better than most.”  _ Daemon, Rhaenyra, Viserys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Moondancer, Laena, Addam, grandfather, grandmother,  _ she left unsaid.

“Then let us write it. Not with any old maesters, regents or old men. But by our own hands. 

“So we wed?” She asked, knowing the answer already but seeking confirmation, nonetheless. 

“We wed,” Alyn concurred and kissed her hard. 

**Author's Note:**

> That was that. I may do a Rhaena drabble next, we'll see where this goes and I am working on my other story atm (Pray The Sun Will Rise) which is an AU if Rhaegar had won the battle at the Trident-- so that takes precedence over everything else. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudos and a comment if you liked this! :)


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